


Not Enough Nope in the World

by arisaema



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dorks in Love, First Meetings, Humanstuck, M/M, Video & Computer Games, blackish red romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arisaema/pseuds/arisaema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a tumblr prompt of writing a pairing and a Text From Last Night, which, in this case, was "Hit on in the middle of a Wal-Mart McDonald's by a really awkward nerd. There is not enough nope in the world." </p><p>I couldn't decide who was the more awkward nerd between the two, so I went with both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Enough Nope in the World

**Author's Note:**

> This is a ridiculous thing I wrote. Just in case you aren't familiar with how Nintendo DS stuff works, you can have the streetpass on and run into other people near you who also have a DS, and then the avatar they created will show up in a your mii plaza. Friend codes are how you add people to your list of friends. I am just highly amused by these dorks doing this instead of, like, exchanging phone numbers or screennames or something normal.

You put the gallon of off-brand apple juice in your basket and keep walking. You’re not really even sure why you grabbed a basket to begin with, since you were really only here for two things--juice and hot pockets--but whatever. Your bro usually does the grocery shopping, so you’re not totally sure what the protocol is for this type of thing. Well, you are _pretty sure_ he goes grocery shopping. You never actually see him walking in with any grocery bags, but there is always food at your house, so it stands to reason that the dude finds time in his weird fucking day to do normal human type shit like exchange money for goods and bring them home to put in whatever cabinets aren’t chock full of swords and plush ass.

Anyway, you’re a grocery shopping amateur and you figure that’s fine. You were bored, and hungry, and out of the pepperoni kind of hot pockets, so why the hell not go to the store? You will probably lug it all over to John’s house in a little bit and eat it there, you decide as you stroll down the frozen foods aisle toward the checkout lines.

Slapping down a crisp Hamilton on the counter (goddamn you’re so self-sufficient right now it hurts) as the cashier rings you up, you think about your options for the evening. You’ve already got your 3ds in the back pocket of your jeans, and it’s not like your night is getting any less lame, so why not crash the Egbert house for an evening of intense Pokemon battling and hot-pocket feasting? Hell yes, great idea, Strider.

You take your change and tuck the handle of the plastic bag the cashier hands you into the crook of your arm. You pull out your phone, texting while you walk, not really paying close attention to where you’re going.

TG: _yo egbert get your videogame thumbs ready and your microwave plugged in cause im coming over right now and bringing home the bacon like a real breadwinner_

TG: _in fact go ahead and tell your dad he can move out cause i got this shit on lock im your dad now hope you like hot pockets_

TG: _who am i kidding everyone likes hot pockets_

You cram your phone into your front pocket without waiting for a response, and look up. You’re in a McDonalds, you realize. What. You turn around and notice the rest of Wal-Mart behind you. You raise your eyebrows and whistle. A McDonalds INSIDE a Wal-Mart. You didn’t even know that was a thing.

Shrugging, you thank America for being its shitty self, and get in line. You’re still riding the high of fending for yourself, so a pre-hot pocket snack of fries definitely feels like it’s in order.

The line is long, and the dude in front of you is already trying to make eye contact with you over his busted up 3DS (luckily your shades prevent him from knowing you’re staring right back). He looks like a chatter. Jesus. He’s shorter than you, and a little stockier. You’ve seen him around school plenty--his homeroom is just across the hall from yours. You’ve never talked to him before, though.

He’s wearing ratty grey jeans and a rattier black sweatshirt. Most of the holes in it look accidental, but his thumbs (chipped black polish and all) are poking out through intentional ones in the sleeves. His black hair falls in unkempt curls around his jaw, which is set, like he’s clenching his teeth, and his eyes are wide and dark and still staring at you. They’re just as wild as the rest of him, except they’re lined with these eyelashes that are cartoon-level thick and dark. It’d be pretty if it wasn’t terrifying, you think.

You turn away from him, your behind-the-shades-stealth observation over, but you can still see him out of the corner of your eye. He’s looking at his 3ds, back at you, and then back at it, not paying attention to the fact that the line’s moved and he hasn’t.

 _Goddamnit, hurry up_ , you think. You want those fries.

“Yo, line’s moving,” you say, pointing.

“Is this you?” he says, ignoring you, shoving the screen in your face. He’s at the Mii plaza, his own dumb looking avatar being followed around by another he picked up with Streetpass. Red shirt, cool hair, stoic-ass look on its face? Hell yes that is you. Perfecting the slight smirk on your Mii took like 20 minutes. You already hate this guy, though, so you’re not about to take the bait.

“I said the line is-”

“Fuck! I know, I heard you, Jesus!” he throws his arms up in the air and turns, taking dramatically long strides to catch up with the person in front of him. When he reaches his destination, he whirls back around, bows deeply at you, rolling his eyes. What the hell.

“Okay then,” he starts right back at it, “NOW is this you?”

 _This guy_. Forget his stupid pretty eyelashes. He’s definitely the worst.

“No.”

“Yes it fucking is,” he responds, with way more vitriol than a dude you just fucking met 3 minutes ago should really have for you, “You look exactly like it. Plus I saw your 3ds in your back pocket.”

You don’t know what to say, so you go for the obvious joke, “You checking out my ass?”

“So what if I was?” he responds, not missing a beat.

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

He says it like it’s an insult, like of course he was looking at your ass, and like it had not lived up to his expectations (an unfair assessment, in your opinion). He raises an eyebrow, though, and his stare somehow gets more intense, like he’s trying his hardest to hold eye contact (and what else would he be doing with his eyes, anyway? Raking them down your body?). You’re not sure what to do with that image, but at least you don’t blush yet.

“You’re welcome, then. And fine,” an edge of annoyance creeps into your typically calm voice. The break in your stoicism just frustrates you more, and you fight off that blush as hard as you can with your brain. You know that’s a losing battle, but you continue, even as you feel the heat creep up your neck. “Yeah, that’s me. Your turn to order, by the way.”

“I _knew_ it." He is smirking at you like it wasn’t just the identity of your Mii that he just confirmed. Great.

He spins around to the counter, tucking his 3DS in his own back pocket as he does. You pointedly don’t watch him as he does it, just in case he was trying to get you to look at his ass, in some weird stupid butt-ogling revenge. You want no part in it (except, you know, the part where you do). You hold your cool for a while, but you’re about to cave and and look at him again when your phone vibrates in your pocket and gives you something else to do. Thankfully.

EB: _Thumbs ready, microwave plugged in! Where are you??_

TG: _sorry i got held up_

TG: _hit on in the middle of a walmart mcdonalds by a really awkward nerd_

TG: _there is not enough nope in the world_

When you look back up from your phone, he’s walking to a table and the cashier is looking at you expectantly. You order your god damn fries and wait. You drum your fingers on the chipped plastic of the counter as your fries get dumped unceremoniously into their carton.

_Don’t look at him don’t look at him don’t look at him._

You look at him.

He’s all hunched over his food in a booth, his feet crossed at the ankles, slurping up his McFLurry like there’s no tomorrow. He is staring _right the fuck at you._

“Ah, screw it,” you whisper to yourself, scooping up your fries and dropping your remaining money on the counter. You grab a pen from the cup by the register and start scribbling numbers on a stray napkin. Embarrassingly satisfied, you walk toward where he’s sitting.

He doesn’t shift his gaze from your face the whole time, and you barely bother to slow your pace as you pass him. You’re fully aware of the connotations of dropping digits on a dude you just met, but it doesn’t stop you. You jut your chin up in acknowledgement when you reach his booth, and you slide the napkin at him. The quickly scrawled friend code is only slightly obscured by grease.

 _His move_ , you think. You’re glad he can’t hear the half-angry half-flustered thump of your heart, even at that range. You pop a fry in your mouth and walk out the door. You try your best to not look back.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot, but I'm already thinking of Karkat's response. I guess I will write what happens with that if people like this enough?


End file.
